


with his damning haste

by hexed_vexed



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst without a happy ending, Arthur ignoring John, Arthur questioning his sexuality, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter 1 referenced, F/M, Few to no spoilers, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Wolf Attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 07:51:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17618441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hexed_vexed/pseuds/hexed_vexed
Summary: Even now with John trying to hold Arthur’s hand in his own; he couldn’t. It was burned in his mind. Actions like these were considered crimes and even an outlaw can respect its logic.Logic’s rose petals were soft compared its revealing thorns. Both were damning.or, Arthur spends some time with his thoughts.





	with his damning haste

**Author's Note:**

> i _highly suggest_ that when reading you listen to the album babel by mumford and sons. its 1 am now, but at 11ish i listened to “ghosts that we knew.” i have never not cried after listening to that song and it was huge inspiration for this work.
> 
> in other notes: this work is NOT going to have a happy ending. if you were looking for that i’m sorry. plus, i will be going back in the morning to edit this since, again, it is 1 am. 
> 
> thank you for reading!

“Got anymore damsels that need savin’?” was the last time Arthur had spoken to anyone after rescuing John from the mountain. 

He chose to distance himself from the gang for a few minutes. To think to himself.

Those minutes poured into hours which gushed into noon and then morphed into the evening. Some assumed Arthur had gone out on his own. Others brushed his absence off as sleep.

The answer was he was doing neither. He had been thinking since the first minute he settled down in his small quarters. 

About what Dutch’s next move would be. How it would affect the rest of them. Thinking of the growling stomachs that would accept anything close to food. Hoping that Abigail and Jack were faring well in the cold. 

Not bothering to remember how relieved John’s bloodied and battered face looked when he saw Arthur on the mountain. 

 

Not for too long, at least.

 

Arthur had sat the brim of his hat over his eyes; attempting to catch a light doze. Didn’t work though. He didn’t know why he expected it should. The weight of countless responsibilities was too heavy on his mind. 

 

. . . 

 

“John’d been askin’ to see you,” Abigail said. Arthur stomped his cigarette in the snow.

“Forgive me Abigail, but why the hell should I care?” 

He acted prickly whenever John was mentioned as of late. 

Abigail released an exasperated sigh and her face hardened. A lot had been put on her shoulders recently. Jack’s wellbeing was always a given. But now she had John to keep from driving the last nail in his own coffin. 

The flicker of a year that he had vanished felt freeing in that regard. Or Arthur supposed so. 

 

“He’d see you if ya asked and we both know that.”

 

Logic was a real thorn in Arthur’s side sometimes. It was easier to act as if it didn’t matter. But Abigail was never a woman to take another’s bullshit.

 

. . . 

 

He pulled the creaky chair back and slumped into the seat. It creaked under his weight. 

The cabin was barren as everyone had left him alone with John. But it was more likely that they were keeping warm in a smaller space across the way. 

 

Arthur didn’t care anymore. He just wanted to get this over with. 

 

John’s crusted over eyelids drooped as he tried to open his eyes. They stayed half-opened, lazily peering at the ceiling. He was delirious with pain, no doubt. But he seemed awake enough to notice someone was sat next to him. 

“Arthur,” he called out. There wasn’t any conviction to the name. It was blown out like smoke from a cigar and was left to linger in the air. 

His hand twitched like it was wanting to move, but had no ability. That was the case though, wasn’t it? John was nearly gutted by wolves and was left barely recognizable with the amount of blood caked on his face. 

 

“Please.” 

 

Arthur had known what he wanted. What he was asking of him. 

Not for his son, nor his wife. He didn’t want a glass of water or some stew to settle his stomach. 

John wanted to stay rooted in the past. A place where they were once remarkably close. Dutch and Hosea treated their relationship as a brotherly love they shared. As a family. 

That wasn’t what it turned out to be, as years past.

John grew older and with his age grew his feelings. His wants and needs blossomed like poisonous flowers in Arthur’s view. They were enticing; bright and promising. 

As most tricks appear to be in the beginning.

Arthur picked the flower from it’s bed. Securing his place permanently in the garden. With that followed nights of bliss and clashing teeth. 

The promise, the secret, that they kept. A mutual trust was built from that. A deep, caring feeling took seed in both of their hearts. Arthur had actually begun to feel as if it was right.

Dutch had been a suspicious man his whole life, it seemed. He confronted him about it and Arthur was left trapped in a web. He could have spun lies, but that would plunge him only deeper under the current.

Dutch was considerate about it. He helped Arthur understand something he already had known. Learned from his own observations of the world around him. 

The term “queer” thrown around like a dirty rag. Even as a young boy, Arthur could understand it was a negative word. An idea he shouldn’t indulge himself with.

And he didn’t anymore. Not after his talk with Dutch, anyhow.

But John never had that talk. He was never told how he was thinking unnaturally for himself. He wasn’t taught the things Arthur knew to be true. 

 

If you don’t water a seed, Arthur realized quickly, it will shrivel. 

 

Through years of nullify his feelings with alcohol and whores, he was well. He would make an effort to look in the opposite way of John on the regular. Only talking to him when necessary. 

Mary had come along, too; a fine woman who knew what she wanted. A proper distraction. 

Occasionally then, Arthur would think of John. Their secret nights full of pure adrenaline and fear. He thought how foolish they really were; acting in such a way. 

It didn’t matter now, though. 

Even now with John trying to hold Arthur’s hand in his own; he couldn’t. It was burned in his mind. Actions like these were considered crimes and even an outlaw can respect its logic.

Logic’s rose petals were soft compared its revealing thorns. Both were damning.

“This isn’t what you're lookin’ for, Marston. Trust me,” Arthur mumbled into the silent cabin. There was no response from the wind.

John’s eyes opened nearly completely now; brown doe eyes stare up at Arthur. He felt a tug in his chest and scolded himself.

This is something you can’t have, he told himself.  
Something you don’t want and neither does he. 

John squeezed Arthur’s finger weakly and his eyes slipped shut. A soft snore could be heard. Arthur sighed and closed his own eyes.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and thought. And ignored.

 

. . .

**Author's Note:**

> say something nice to boost my self-confidence and ego. 
> 
>  
> 
> leave kudos, subscribe, bookmark, comment, all that good stuff.
> 
> (im working to set up a buy me a coffee page tomorrow, so look out for that)


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